Too Far Gone
by LucieMarie
Summary: The Battle of Hogwarts was fought valiantly, but in the end, Voldemort managed to pull through. In a world run by darkness and violence, Draco Malfoy thought he was thriving. That is, until a certain Mudblood was uncovered near-death...Full Summary Inside
1. Chapter 1

**Full Summary: The Battle of Hogwarts was fought valiantly, but in the end, Voldemort managed to pull through. In a world run by darkness and violence, Draco Malfoy thought he was thriving. That is, until a certain Mudblood was uncovered near-death on a snowy February night. She offers him help. Will he accept it? Or is he too far gone?**

**Rated: T for violence and language.**

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><p><strong>a.n. Here we go with my second story. I was originally trying to write on two different planes of time at once, but I was having trouble with one of them and decided to publish them separately since this part has been complete for some time. It's not as long as my last story, but I worked a lot harder on it, and I believe it shows. This means you should be on the lookout for a sequel!<strong>

**I actually finished and edited the entire thing before I trusted myself to post this first chapter. I had to make sure I got all the kinks out. That's right, this story is already complete. I'll be posting about a chapter/day until it's all up for you guys… provided you let me know whether you're reading it and if you are liking it. Enjoy!**

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><p>The days weren't safe, but they were safer than the nights. Every evening when the sun dipped beneath the horizon, it took with it not only light and warmth, but protection. During the nights, it was harder to see who might be sneaking up on you. It was difficult to get a look at your attacker's face before they struck. There was little chance to protect yourself. The nights were ruthless.<p>

He missed the stars, he realized with a pang as he stood in the crisp February air, his breath rising into the sky in little puffs. He couldn't even remember the last time he had seen them winking down at him. Surely it had been years. Had he seen them since the defeat of Harry Potter? It seemed that the Boy Who Lived (Or rather, the Boy Who Hadn't Lived) had taken all color and joy from the world with his death, draining everything of its vibrance.

But it was better this way, he told himself. This was what he had always wanted. At least, this is what he had always _thought _he wanted. It had seemed like such a good idea, at the time, to join forces with the most-feared wizard the world had ever seen. It had all seemed like such a fool-proof idea to obtain respect and power. But he wasn't respected anymore, and he had no real power.

Well, at least _he_ was still alive. At least his mother was still alive. At least _something _good had come from that decision. From what he knew, there was almost no one left on the Resistance's side. They had been picked off one-by-one for two years. They had certainly gotten the worst end of the deal. That's what they get for acting so foolishly optimistic. They deserved what they got for hopelessly continuing to oppose the Dark Lord. But he _did _miss the stars. The world somehow seemed a lot lonelier without them.

Draco Malfoy trudged his way through the deep snow back to Malfoy Manor, carefully stepping in the tracks he had made moments before. He had only made it half-way to the gate before he decided it was too cold to leave for the night without a hat. A hat would be a good idea, anyway. Not only would it keep him warm, but it would cover his revealing blond hair, keeping his identity a little more discreet. Not that it mattered much. Anyone who was still left alive at this time would be praising him for the damage he was going to cause to humanity. Just as they had every night before tonight for the past two years. Ever since Harry Potter drew his last breath.

His black wool hat firmly in place over his ears, Draco pulled his black gloves on tighter, tracked his mother to the kitchen, kissed her on the cheek, and left into the night. It was just another night of upholding the law of the Dark Lord. It was just another night of trouncing around the streets with Zabini and Nott and Flint and other old friends and classmates. It was just another night of senseless violence and killings and brilliant red blood staining the pure snow.

Once he had closed the tall iron gates to the Manor behind him, Draco easily turned on spot and twisted into space, clenching his teeth, dreading another night of the forced violence that so many others of his kind seemed to live for. If only the Death Eaters had some sort of desk job he could take up.

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><p>The events of the night transpired as if they were an old movie; the scenes flashing in and out of focus, some of them more memorable that others, devoid of all colors except blacks and whites and greys and, often, red. Draco moved mechanically, even through his smirks and his taunts, hardly noticing what he was doing anymore. It was all routine at this point. He could have done it with his eyes closed. Flint and Nott and Zabini were with him the whole time, each of them with their own methods of punishment. Flint liked to make the blood flow. He said it was beautiful the way it contrasted the white winter around him. The splatters and smears and patterns were artistic, he insisted. He was excessive with his violence, not caring whether his victim was pure-blood or half-blood or muggle. Nott was more reserved, but he certainly didn't hold back. He ensured that he never touched a pure-blood. He was methodical and followed the Dark Lord's instructions to a T. Zabini and Draco were the most unenthusiastic out of all of them, doing only what was necessary to avoid being brought to the Dark Lord's attention. Neither of them seemed to have the blood lust that gripped Flint so tight. Perhaps they were growing bored of their escapades.<p>

They had been doing the same thing night after night for two years. It was simple, really. They owned the streets at night, and anyone who was stupid enough to be out after the sun went down was fair game. They deserved what they got, really. They were all aware of the rules. When they broke the rules, they had to accept the consequences (which varied from general harassment to a violent death, depending on the general mood of the people that found them). They asked for it the moment they stepped into the night.

Draco was very good a rationalizing his behavior.

If he didn't participate, he would be killed, after all. If he didn't participate, his mother, his only remaining parent, would be killed. The remaining Malfoys were already looked upon with such distaste by the Dark Lord. He still brought up Draco's failure during his sixth year, often at meetings, much to the amusement of the other Death Eaters. He still laughed at Lucius' blunders throughout his reign. He loved to ridicule and humiliate the Malfoys at their gatherings. It was as if he had made a sport out of it.

So Draco went along with the stupid rules, to keep the shame off of his poor mother. She wasn't getting any younger, after all, and Lucius' death had taken a toll on her. He jeered with his fellow Death Eaters and Violence-Lovers alike, keeping the streets clean with their own versions of filth and anarchy, all under Lord Voldemort's not-so-watchful-eye. For if Voldemort watched them too closely, he would likely be angry. They were specifically told to rid the streets of filth. According to the Dark Lord, that didn't include the pure-bloods that got in their way. But sometimes, like in the case of Flint and so many others, the violence seemed to take control of their actions, turning their eyes red and their hearts black, and it didn't matter who got in their way as long as blood was spilt across the pavement. No one worried as much as they should about the consequences of their actions, however, as the Dark Lord always seemed to be gone on secretive solo-missions these days. Because of this, the streets were considered free reign by various gangs.

The sun would be peeking over the horizon in about an hour, and Draco trudged through the dirty slush on the streets, hands shoved deep in his pockets, feeling a chill settle over his body now that the rush from destruction had faded. He was looking forward to showering the filth from his body before laying down for a long sleep. Nott and Flint muttered their goodbyes and disapparated a little early, knowing that they've done more than enough to please the Dark Lord for that evening. Blaise walked next to Draco, silent except for the _crunch crunch _of the snow under his own boots. They probably would have continued in silence that way, up until they disapparated to go their separate ways, but something was unusual about that night.

They chose to cut through an alley, as they often did, and the atmosphere between them immediately changed. There was a body in the alley, brilliant blood surrounding it, spread across the snow. A distinct red handprint was visible reaching out towards the main roads, telling the story of a final act of desperation. This was nothing new to them, but it was always a little unnerving to see just how careless some of the gangs could be with their work. Bodies were supposed to be disposed of properly; the Dark Lord didn't like them littering the streets. The two young Death Eaters approached it slowly, taking care to evaluate their surroundings. It was possible that one of their own had done this, and therefore they would be in no danger. It was also possible that a rogue group, belonging to no one, was setting a trap for the sole purpose of enjoying the thrill of a fight. Once they had deemed the area safe, they took a closer look.

The body was of a young woman. She was laying face-down in the snow, and though it was hard to tell until they could get a proper look at her, she seemed to be about 19 or 20. Young. Their age. As was habit in these situations, Blaise stuck his foot under her side and kicked her over to face them so they could ensure it was no one they cared about. Draco inhaled sharply through his nose, and Blaise cursed next to him.

Hermione Granger, famous Mudblood, skin tinted blue, laid in the snow looking for all the world to be dead. Her face seemed sunken and thin, the skin stretched tight, as if she hadn't eaten properly in months, and a faint scar ran long down her cheek, beginning under her eye and ending under her chin, but it was still undeniably her.

"He's going to be so pissed…" Blaise muttered to himself, hands shoved deep in his pockets, looking unbearably uncomfortable with their discovery. Draco silently agreed. The Dark Lord had wanted so desperately to kill the Mudblood himself. He had sent out direct orders to everyone that did his bidding that, should the Mudblood or Weasel be found, they were to be brought straight to him. Alive. He wanted to tell them personally that they were fools, he said. He wanted to mock them and tell them that they had worked so hard for nothing, and look where it had gotten them. And he wanted to murder them with his by his own hand, proving once and for all that every member of the Golden Trio was a joke. Draco imagined it would be a very satisfying moment for the Dark Lord. He shivered at the thought.

It must have been a group of kids that had found her, he concluded. Anyone else would have immediately recognized her. It struck him as odd, though, that anyone had been able to catch the Mudblood off-guard. Having personally dueled her during the Final Battle, he knew just how fast and formidable her spellwork was.

"Should we… pretend we never saw her? Or take her body back to the Manor?" Draco asked, disgusted, breaking the heavy silence that had settled between him and Blaise. Blood had trickled from the corner of the Mudblood's mouth. It was still shining. This must have happened very recently.

Blaise looked thoughtful for a minute. "We disturbed the scene. We can't ignore her now. He'll know someone messed with the body."

It was unfortunate, but true. Draco would have liked nothing better than to ignore the mess that was lying before them. It would have been one less thing to deal with before he could finally sleep. But Blaise was right. They had turned her over. Their foot prints and red stains in the snow made it obvious that someone had disturbed the scene, and they did not want to give the Dark Lord any reason to think that they had done this and were lying to him about it. Draco shuddered at the mere thought. Deceiving that Dark Lord in any way was asking for a painful death.

"Fine," he said shortly, and with a flick of his wand, the Mudblood rose slowly from the snow until she was levitating in front of them, and then he, Blaise, and the body disappeared back to Malfoy Manor.

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><p>Narcissa was shocked when her son returned a half-hour early from his night. It was almost unheard of that he would abandon his work before his time was up. He was such a good boy, working hard to make life easier for them. She was more shocked to see the young Blaise Zabini standing with him, looking grim. It was rare that his friends would accompany him home, for the poor boy was usually so tired he would go straight to bed. But she lost her ability to speak when she saw that they were towing Potter's Mudblood behind them, dripping quickly melting chunks of snow onto her floor, looking stiff and pale and dead.<p>

"_What have you boys done?" _she whispered, not bothering the mask the pure horror in her voice. Draco knew that in the second she had spotted the dead Mudblood, she thought she was going to be the last remaining Malfoy.

Draco shook his head quickly, reassuring her that they had nothing to do with her demise. "We didn't. We found her in the snow. The Dark Lord would want to see for himself."

She didn't look appeased, but Narcissa relaxed slightly, some tension leaving her face. Still with a look of suppressed horror, she kept her eyes trained on the floating body. "He will be so angry," she muttered, and Draco nodded seriously. She continued, "He is away again, but I will send word to him immediately. You are right, Draco, dear. He would… he would want to know…"

"_Wait!" _Blaise interrupted her, rudely. Draco turned to tell his friend off for speaking to his mother in such a disrespectful manner, but a look of pure astonishment had come over his face, and so Draco followed his gaze to the Mudblood hovering between them all. The two Malfoys and Zabini watched, as if in a trance, while the Mudblood's eyelids fluttered, though they stayed closed, her long dark lashes gently flickering. A long and very pregnant silence fell between them, until Narcissa broke it, her voice oddly strangled, dripping with panic.

"_She's still alive!" _

Draco still had not found his voice, and judging by the way Blaise's mouth was simply hanging open, he hadn't either. Luckily, Narcissa continued, though she seemed to be muttering mainly to herself at this point, sound half-crazed and absolutely ridden with terror. It was a habit she had taken up about two years ago, after Lucius' sudden death during the Final Battle.

"_We can't let her die in this house… not while the Dark Lord is away… we need to keep her alive, get her a little healthier, so that he can finish the job the way he wants to…"_

"Mother," Draco began patiently, glad to hear that his voice was even and calm. He needed to bring order back to the situation."Mother, you are right. We need to keep her alive. Go send word to the Dark Lord, and I will put her up in one of the old servant's rooms. I will tend to her, with the help of one of the elves. Don't worry. I'll take care of everything." His voice soothed her, and she blinked hard, seeming to calm herself and come to her senses.

"Yes, Draco, dear. I will send an owl at once." She left the foyer swiftly at that, midnight blue robes billowing behind her. Draco said goodbye to Blaise and began the tedious process of saving the Mudblood's life.

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><p>Keeping the Mudblood from falling over to the edge of death wasn't an easy task, Draco soon discovered. Immediately after depositing her half-frozen body onto one of the old beds in the basement of Malfoy Manor, Draco called for Howwy. Howwy was his favorite house elf. He was very helpful and polite and very rarely did anything that would warrant a punishment. He was a very diligent worker, just as a house elf should be, and Draco knew that he would take great care of the Mudblood.<p>

Howwy had immediately set to work. Having been provided an assortment of potions and other supplies, the short creature stood at the edge of the bed, bandaging this and that and occasionally pouring a steaming liquid down the girl's throat. Draco conjured a chair and sat in the corner, supervising the elf's handiwork. Every now and then Howwy would tentatively suggest that Draco use his magic to heal a particularly nasty wound, flinching as he did so, as if expecting to be kicked for daring to ask such a thing, but Draco always obliged.

He worked through the early morning without rest while Draco sat and watched, almost bored with the situation. Howwy didn't seem to be having much trouble with her wounds, but there were a lot of them twisting angry red over her skin. She hadn't been cursed too deeply. She would be fine. Draco stood stiffly and reached his long arms over his head to stretch. Howwy could finish up on his own, now. His poor mother was probably sick with worry, wondering how the Dark Lord would punish them if they allowed the Mudblood to die while he was gone, and Draco wanted to put her fears to rest before he laid down for a much-needed sleep. He was exhausted. Without a word, he left the servants' chamber.

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><p>After the initial healing, the Mudblood didn't require intense around-the-clock care. Draco trooped down to her room three times a day to tip a potion down her throat, but that was the extent of the matter. Howwy the elf, had been a great help, taking over the night shift while Draco left to run the streets. Blaise had also been a huge help. Three days after her arrival, they congratulated each other on her now-stable condition. It was looking as though she was going to pull through after all. The Dark Lord would be immensely pleased. Perhaps the remaining Malfoys would finally be back in his good graces.<p>

It was the evening of the third day now, and as if by habit, Draco was tilting back the Mudblood's head to force another healing potion down her throat. Half-way through, the body stirred, and she began resisting his force, though she was very feeble, as if she had the strength of a butterfly, and her eyes remained closed. Taken by surprise, curious as to whether she would wake, Draco stopped and took a step back, watching carefully. Still she stirred, shifting slightly here and there, for almost five minutes, until Draco couldn't take the boredom anymore. It didn't look as though she was going to wake up. He stepped back up to the bed and tilted the rest of the potion down her throat, watching the florescent green liquid drip steadily to the back of her mouth as he did so. The second the last drop disappeared, however, the Mudblood's eyes flew open wildly, and she stared at him wide-eyed for a long count of five seconds before she tried and failed to leap to her feet on top of the bed. She hadn't even found her footing before collapsing into a heap on the mattress, limbs shaking with injuries and weakness.

Draco retreated once again from the bed, watching her interestedly, a bit surprised at her sudden burst of energy.

Lying on the bed, her hands flew to the buttons on her coat, which they hadn't bothered removing, and she fumbled with an inside pocket, then frantically searched the rest of her person, breathing heavily, clearly distressed. "Where's my wand?" she croaked in a voice hoarse with lack of use. _"My wand. Where is it?" _she demanded, as if she thought Draco might actually answer her. "WHERE AM I?" she screamed at him, struggling to sit up, and then almost immediately she sunk back onto the bed, though she continued to claw feebly at her pockets for a moment longer, as if hoping she would still find her wand.

Once again, she was unconscious. Draco wrinkled his nose. As least that didn't last long. The Mudblood was a fool the way she had searched her pockets, as if she actually thought they would have left her with her wand. Immediately upon discovering that her heart was still beating, they had searched her for it, and it had been promptly confiscated and hidden in an upstairs closet… just in case the Dark Lord wished for her to have it. He often gave his victims a false sense of hope by providing them with a wand or other weapon. It would make their reunion much more entertaining.

Though it wasn't an issue now, Draco knew that as soon as she could maintain consciousness for more than 30 seconds, she would try to escape. Bloody Gryffindors never thought things through. Draco had charmed the bed in a way that forced her to be on it at all times. There was no way around it since she didn't have a wand. He smirked slightly, as he left the servants' quarters, heading for his own room, thinking idly about how entertaining it would be to watch her make this discovery, but he didn't have time to focus on such trivial things at this moment. He was back in his room now, and he changed slowly into his black night-clothes, lacing up a pair of tall black boots lined with fur and equipped with a formidable steel toe. He pulled his dragon-hide gloves on tight, and covered his head with his hat. It was time for the night now.

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><p><strong>a.n. As mentioned, it's shorter than Windows to the Soul, so I am uploading smaller chapters. Next chapter: Hermione becomes coherent. <strong>

**What are your thoughts on this? Am I being clear? Are you enjoying it? Constructive criticism is encouraged. Please review!**


	2. Chapter 2

**a.n. Thanks to mnmwriter138 and NFV for their reviews! I realize I accidentally wrote 'Zambini' instead of 'Zabini' now. I think this is because I always think of 'Zamboni' when I type it for some reason. I haven't corrected it yet, but I'll get to it in the next few days. Here is Chapter 2. I have read through it a few times to check for mistakes, but I'm sure I've overlooked something here or there. Let me know what you think!**

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><p>It was the fourth day since she had arrived. She had many more "waking episodes", but her outbursts were short, as her energy drained very quickly upon waking. This suited Draco very well. He didn't want to deal with a conscious Mudblood, as she would undoubtedly scream and shout and beg for hours as opposed to the minutes he already had to put up with. It wouldn't take her long to figure out that she was going to be killed, and he was sure that the whole process of her coming to terms with it would be very annoying.<p>

Howwy had alerted Draco earlier that morning that the Mudblood should be able to transition off potions and to solid food at this point, and Draco inwardly cringed. She was getting stronger. She would likely be awake much more often from now on. Dutifully, though, as he promised his mother he would take care of everything, he walked through the winding halls of Malfoy Manor to the old room he had stuffed her stiff body in when she first arrived, some bread and water in hand. As he approached the room, he heard some scuffling on the inside. He frowned. He didn't think he had asked Howwy to bring the Mudblood anything, or to check on her at all. That must mean she was awake again. He sighed and vowed to drop the bread and water on her bedside table and leave again without a word. He had so successfully been ignoring her screeching questions and demands up until this point.

He leaned against the heavy wooden door with his shoulder and pushed it open, and, just as he had suspected, the Mudblood was looking up at him furiously from the bed that she could not stand from. _"Why am I here?" _she asked bitingly, her anger unwavering. That was a new question, and thinking of the answer made Draco smirk to himself. She usually just demanded her wand. Had she really not worked it out yet? How thick _was _this girl?

"You're a prisoner, obviously," was his cold-blooded answer as he set the bread and water on the nightstand, avoiding her penetrating gaze.

"For what purpose?" she continued as she snatched the bread from the table. There was dirt under her fingernails, Draco realized with disgust, and more was smeared on her cheek. Her hair was tangled and matted. He noticed that she had enough energy to have removed her filthy boots, revealing her mis-matched and thread-bare socks. His eyes searched the room. It looked as though she had thrown them at the door. Her winter coat was propped behind her as a sort of make-shift pillow, revealing her ribs, which seemed to be trying to poke through her sweater. Great. She was regaining enough strength to worry about her own comfort. It looked like his job was about to get a lot more difficult.

"Why, we're keeping you for the Dark Lord's amusement, of course," he answered her, finally letting his eyes rest on the girl before him that, at the moment, looked more animal than human as she gnawed on the bread. She hadn't even suggested that he might have poisoned it. He had expected her to. "He will be most pleased to see you face-to-face."

He watched her cringe through her last mouthful. She had eaten it all so quickly; she must be close to starving. Judging by the sharpness of her bones under her sallow skin, she wouldn't have lasted much longer even without the injuries. She downed all the water in one gulp before locking her defiant brown eyes back on him.

"So you've healed me and fed me for the sole purpose of keeping me alive to see him? At which point I assume he's going to kill me. You're keeping me alive so that I can die at the _proper time. _That's like raising a pig for slaughter. You're _sick!"_ and she spat at him. Draco dodged it and impulsively raised his wand to point at her, sneering, imagining all the pain he could inflict on her without a seconds notice. His lip curled in anger. How dare the filthy Mudblood?

"You're lucky we need you healthy," he said, straining to keep his temper in check, and then he lowered his wand, turned on heel, and left. He didn't like how quickly she was recovering and becoming feisty. Keeping his promise to his mother looked as though it would end up being more work than he thought. He silently hoped, possibly for the first time in his life, that the Dark Lord returned to them soon.

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><p>One day later, Draco sat in the corner of the dirty little room, looking at the unmoving figure on the bed, his nose wrinkled in extreme distaste. He was not looking forward to prodding the Mudblood awake only to be met with her furious, snarling face. He just wanted a few more moments to himself, for she would surely be all sorts of riled up and annoying. Maybe he could suggest that they sedate her for the majority of her stay.<p>

But he couldn't put it off much longer. Voldemort had responded, after only five days of wait, and he was very pleased with the Malfoys and Blaise, but he was also very content with the current situation and seemed to be in no real hurry to return from wherever-the-fuck he was. The Manor was Headquarters, he had reminded Draco. As if he was a stupid little child. There were plenty Death Eaters in and out of the house at all hours of the day and night. The Mudblood was under much protection. The Dark Lord was not worried that she would escape while so many of them swarmed in and out. The letter had ended with a promise that the Dark Lord would return in about a week and a half. Draco was sure that He hadn't given an exact date in order to keep the situation as suspenseful as possible for the Mudblood. If she didn't know when her death was coming, she would be constantly on the edge. That idea in itself was a form of torture, he thought.

Draco grimaced at the crassness of the Dark Lord, but immediately pushed the thoughts from his mind. It was dangerous to think such things, however mild the thoughts might be, even with his Occlumency walls built high and strong. If he let his guard down for a minute around a skilled Legillimens, such as Aunt Bella or (he shuddered) the Dark Lord himself, it was likely he would be killed on the spot. The Dark Lord didn't tolerate anything short of adoration for all his actions.

He stood, his knees cracking back into place with the effort, and prodded warily at the unconscious form of the Mudblood with the tip of his wand, ready to step back the second she started thrashing out again. Her eyes immediately sprung open, instantly aware of her surroundings, and her lips tightened. He flinched. It was obvious that she was never _really _asleep. He supposed his mind wouldn't let him fully rest either, if he was in her situation.

"Oi, Mudblood," he drawled, determined not to look at her properly. She was beginning to smell quite bad, like dirt, sweat, and unmistakably dried blood that still lay matted in her hair. He would have to have Howwy wash her so he could continue tending to her without the stench.

Her eyes focused on him, hardened, narrowed, seemingly more black than the brown he thought he remembered from their days at Hogwarts, but she didn't say anything. Gingerly, she sat up, wincing slightly as she did. Draco wrinkled his nose. Was she still bruised and battered? Whoever attacked her must have done a number on her. Or she was just hopelessly wimpy. It was probably the latter of the two.

He might as well get right to the point. The Dark Lord had only requested that he get the answer to one question from her, so he jumped right in: "Tell me who attacked you." The Dark Lord was very curious. Whoever it was would be punished severely. Draco almost pitied them.

"How the fuck should I know? I was looking the other way, wasn't I?" she answered crossly.

He wrinkled his nose, and mimicked her tone, "How the fuck should I know what way you were looking? I found you face-down in the snow, didn't I?"

She pulled the long sleeves of her sweater down tight over her hands, clearly uncomfortable.

"I don't know who they were," she went on, her voice losing some of its harshness as she unwillingly revisited the memories of her near-death. "Some kids. Around 15-years-old or so. There were at least six of them. They caught me off guard." She said the last bit forcefully, as if determined that Draco not think she had been overpowered by the children. He understood. The element of surprise was something to be treasured. It could mean life-or-death during the nights. The Dark Lord would torture the boys if he ever found out who they were, but Draco, he would shake their hands for surprising the Mudblood. That was not an easy feat.

Draco frowned slightly, still not fully able to picture the attack. How the hell did they manage to catch Granger, of all people, off guard? When they had been dueling during the Final Battle, almost two years ago, not only had she effectively fought him, but she also managed to send a formidable curse at any other Death Eater that came into her line of vision, at times holding off up to five different Death Eaters. She must have been focused on something else the other night. What a fool; letting her guard down like that. What was she even doing in London in the first place? She was fully aware that she would be killed if she was found. The Dark Lord didn't keep that a secret.

"How can you do this?" Granger asked, interrupting his thoughts. Her tone had suddenly changed from that of anger to something softer. She was still angry, but there was bewilderment there as well, lying beneath layers of emotion that Draco couldn't quite identify. "How can you torture and kill your fellow human beings? Your old classmates? Your old friends?"

Draco instantly felt his face harden. Her eyes narrowed in interest, as if she thought she might have struck a chord within him, and she continued. "How can you look into their eyes and watch them suffer at your own hand? You have the power to stop this, you –"

"Enough!" he hissed dangerously. He would not let the Mudblood pry into his most intimate thoughts and play on his insecurities. _"_If I wanted to live… if I wanted my family to live… " he took a deep breath, breaking his hardened stare and mentally shook himself. She was treading on dangerous ground. If she brought these thoughts to his forefront of thought, it would be harder to protect himself and his family. "I do what I have to," he said, and he was grateful to hear that this time his voice was even, steady, deadly once more. It had been a moment of weakness and nothing more. He was only lucky the Mudblood had been the only one to witness it. Anyone else would have brought it up with the Dark Lord, perhaps questioning his loyalties.

The Mudblood blinked, seeming to drink in his words. Her face softened slightly, though she said nothing.

Draco sneered, trying to regain control of his attitude. He would not let this filth push him around in such a way. "I must say, Mudblood, I am surprised it was a group of rogue teenagers that managed to bring you in," he taunted, bringing the conversation back to a level he was comfortable with. "Although, I cannot deny that I've been expecting to see you for a long time now. The Dark Lord has been looking carefully for you, and it must have been difficult to cower in the dark for so long…"

Fire blazed in Granger's eyes, and he watched her jaw set. She seemed to be viciously biting her tongue, preventing herself from saying what was clearly fighting to free itself from her mouth, and he grinned to himself, pleased that he could get such a rise out of her.

"Really, Granger, I don't even know why you bother. You're just as foolish as Potter was."

That did it. She spat at his feet and turned her face from him, refusing to acknowledge his presence anymore. It must have been the taunt about her dead friend that sent her over the edge. Draco watched as her tense, white hands flexed until they turned white, clearly itching for her wand, undoubtedly so she could curse him to high hell for calling her out. Why else would she be so worked-up by his words? His heart pounded with joy as he observed the rise he had gotten out of the Mudblood. It had been so many years since he had been able to taunt her. He had almost forgotten how fun it was.

However, it wasn't quite the same. This wasn't taunting as it had been in their school days. It was darker. It was tormenting. And neither he nor the Mudblood seemed to react in the same way. Both were more defensive. More careful. Treading lightly, each knowing that the other possessed incredible abilities and many secrets.

"Howwy!" Draco called, and the feeble elf appeared at once at his feet with a loud crack, trembling slightly with the energy that seemed to be radiating off the young man. "Clean up the mess this filth has made," he ordered, gesturing to the spittle on the floor. "Then leave her. She does not need dinner tonight." Inwardly he grinned at the insane amount of control he held over the situation. He enjoyed watching her struggle so much.

His interview with her was over, so Draco left, winding through the halls once again, wondering idly about the attack on the Mudblood. After he sent an owl to the Dark Lord confirming what they already had assumed, that it was a rogue group of kids, he soon forgot about their exchange. He made his way to the first floor, intending on a snack, and found all sorts of fantastic foods laid out for the other Death Eaters by the elves. It was still relatively early, and only a handful of people were ambling about, lightly chatting and eating heaping helpings, as if they were attending a high-class dinner party. Draco had been hoping to have some time to himself, but the food looked delicious, so he only somewhat reluctantly joined the others. More and more arrived as the evening wore on, and they all milled about, congratulating him of the detainment of the Mudblood, congratulating each other, for the Dark Lord would surely be in high spirits for a while to come.

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><p>Draco kicked a grayish chunk of snow that looked as if it had fallen off one of those vehicles the muggles were so fond of puttering around in. It rolled across the sidewalk, coming to rest gently a few feet later. Draco had greatly enjoyed the dinner party, but he had to leave after only a short time in order to begin the night. He couldn't assume that the Dark Lord would excuse him from his duties under any circumstances. Assuming was a dangerous game to play these days.<p>

"When did the Dark Lord say he would return?" Blaise asked idly, watching snow fall heavily, passing though the beams of a street light, getting caught in his long dark lashes. Since he had been part of the initial seizure of the girl, he would likely be rewarded almost as heavily as Draco, but he was becoming visibly bored with the waiting game, and Draco couldn't blame him. Flint and Nott had wandered off to search more intently for a victim. They had been upset with themselves for leaving early that night, for now they were missing out of the praise that would be coming. A fresh victim would help them work out their frustrations.

"He didn't exactly say," Draco answered, not paying much attention to the conversation. Instead he found his mind wandering back to the not-so-lengthy exchange he had had earlier that night with the girl. At the time it had seemed like nothing, but the more he thought about it, the more it disturbed him, the details still dancing around fresh in his mind. The Mudblood was a logically thinking, very calculating creature. Thinking about her ability to draw conclusions unnerved him greatly; she was almost always right, and she knew it. As he and Blaise had walked through the streets, silently enjoying the other's company, he analyzed her words and reactions (as he was so apt to do) and realized with a start that her brain had been almost visibly working behind her eyes the entire time. She was gently but cunningly prodding at him, watching him, trying to unravel him as a person. And in one five-minute span of time, she had made a major discovery. She had picked up on his insecurities. Was she skilled at Legillimens? He would have to reinforce his walls. But those questions she had been asking him… trying to discover his reasons…

That night had suddenly gone cold as Draco realized that Granger had seen past his eyes and into his soul. She had somehow picked up on his doubts, and had asked – not blindly and naively, as he had originally thought – but with the intention of planting a seed in his mind. She was trying to manipulate him, or at least pull some sort of psychological-bullshit, surely for the purpose of saving her own life.

Draco felt anger growing in his chest, as if there was a live serpent in him waiting to unleash itself, and out of frustration he kicked another chunk of snow as hard as he could. It shattered into a million pieces going in all directions before falling softly back to the ground. "He can't get back soon enough," he spat angrily.

They spent the rest of the evening milling about the roads, snow collecting heavily in their lashes and on their shoulders. Neither Blaise nor Draco put much effort into their nights anymore. Sure, when they came across a lone person in the streets, they had their fun, but they didn't try as hard as Nott and Flint still did. If someone ducked suddenly into the shadows, cowering in fear, they might pretend they hadn't noticed. After all, they might as well be guaranteed to be on the Dark Lord's good side now. They didn't have to work as hard to prove their value on the streets as long as they went through with the motions, so they simply killed time (and anyone stupid enough to bring attention to themselves) until the sun began to rise. As long as they were on the streets during the times they were supposed to be, they were safe.

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><p><strong>a.n. There it is. Not a very exciting chapter, but I needed it to bridge to the good stuff. Next chapter – Lots of interaction between Draco and Hermione, and Bellatrix enters the mix. <strong>


	3. Chapter 3

**a.n. Okay, I lied. I'm uploading two chapters today just because I've finished everything else I needed to do today, and I'm ready to be done with this story. I also felt guilty about how uneventful the last chapter was. This story is all broken up now and ready to go. It will be 6 chapters total (I wasn't joking when I said it was a short story). **

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><p>There was an owl waiting for him when he woke up that early afternoon. The Dark Lord had wasted no time in responding to Draco's letter; a testament of how eager he was. The Dark Lord praised Draco once again for his efforts, promising that they would get more information out of the Mudblood <em>together<em> once he returned. It was written as though Draco should think it was a real treat that he would be allowed to partake in the torture. Draco grimaced upon reading this. It sounded as though the Dark Lord was moving Draco up in the ranks. Did he really want that? More work. More violence. More groveling at the Dark Lord's feet. It wasn't as if he could refuse.

The letter was short, and to the point, but also encouraged Draco to continue healing the Mudblood as much as he could. The Dark Lord wanted her at maximum health capacity when he finally got to see her again… after all this time…

Despite the warmth of the fire in the library, where Draco had been standing to read his instructions, he could not suppress the shiver that worked its way down his spine. He mulled over the words in his mind for a moment. _He wanted her as healthy as possible… _That clearly translated to – he wanted her to live through the torture for as long as possible. The Dark Lord would have much more time to enjoy it in that case.

He sighed as he folded up the letter and stuck it deep in an inner pocket of his robes before heading to the kitchens to grab a small meal for Granger. The letter had also stated that he had been excused of his nightly duties in order to spend more time healing the girl. He had to be in a room without cursing her for much longer periods of time, and Blaise would have to find a new partner for the next week. At least it was only for another week.

_One more week.. one more week… _his footsteps seemed to be echoing the phrase to him throughout the deserted halls as he made his way towards the room where Granger was being kept, a tray of old bread and meat balanced between his hands, and tall glass of pumpkin juice as well. She would probably be thrilled by the feast he was bringing her. _One more week before everything could go back to normal – nights on the streets and blindly following the Dark Lord's orders…_

The Mudblood was sitting perched alert on her bed today, her legs curled under her as she leaned against a tall pile of pillows. She didn't move when he pushed through the door, and her face remained determinedly indifferent, but her eyes followed him, uncomfortably scrutinizing. _She was trying to read him again_, he realized. He promised himself he would give her nothing to work with this time. Nothing to feed her _mind games_.

"Why the special meal today?" she asked sardonically, her lip curling in obvious contempt. He sat the tray on the bedside table, where she would be able to reach it from her imprisoning bed, but didn't answer. "Is this my last one?" she asked defiantly, sticking her chin out, crossing her arms, and not reaching for the tray, though Draco knew she must be very hungry.

He kept his face blank, as if he were a drone, and answered in the most monotonous voice he could muster: "The Dark Lord wishes you to be healthy when he meets you."

She stared at him for almost a full minute, and he stared back, wishing she would eat so he could leave. Finally, her bony hands reached out and grabbed the tray, pulling it into her lap, and she began to eat slowly, watching Draco over her food, chewing and savoring eat bite, as if knowing that it was annoying him to no end. He was pleased to see that now her fingernails were clean and her hair had been brushed free of dirt and blood. Howwy must have come in earlier.

"So he wants me to be healthy when he sees me…" she mused between bites, her face suddenly darkening extraordinarily. "For what reason?" she demanded, her words suddenly harsh and strong, taking Draco by surprise. "So I'll fight back harder? So I'll last longer while he interrogates me? While he tortures me?" She looked outraged. Her nostrils flared slightly, and her cheeks had flushed more than he had seen them since they found her in the snow, causing the long scar down her face to stand out more vividly. She angrily took another bite of her bread, chewing ferociously, looking more like a lion with her bushy hair than she ever had before, so much like a Gryffindor would be expected to look. The sight was almost comical, but Draco wasn't laughing.

No, the situation wasn't particularly amusing to him at this point. She was passionately staring into his eyes, waiting for some sort of response, and he felt a tug somewhere deep in his stomach. She was right, what she had said earlier – they were raising her exactly like a pig for slaughter. But what exactly did she expect to be interrogated about? The Dark Lord would probably ask for the whereabouts of the Weasel or others that he had been searching for, but that was hardly an interrogation. Surely there wasn't more information to gather from her. A few questions before death was nothing. Draco had seen much worse.

Her eyes were still blazing into his, and she had pausing eating to look more intensely at him. "Why did you choose this side, Malfoy?" she demanded, though her voice had taken a much softer tone. Her voice wasn't sad, or disappointed, or scared, knowing that she was facing her own death, but curious, and he felt the odd tug in the pit of his stomach again.

"_Because I had no choice," _he answered, and then mentally scolded himself for his moment of vulnerability. Damn Granger seemed to know just how to talk to him to trick him into answering. Her eyes hadn't lit up upon hearing this, as he had expected. She didn't look triumphant. Her look never wavered. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe she really was just curious, possibly looking for some peace before she met her end. He cleared his throat, and answered again with more conviction. "Because any other action would have been a death sentence for me and my parents," he said strongly, fiercely, as if she was out of line by asking, and he had no choice but to answer, though they both knew he was acting of his own accord.

She looked at him for another moment, matching his ferocity, before breaking eye contact to slowly chew another couple bites of her meal, and she took a long sip of the cool pumpkin juice before looking back up at him, her eyes slightly softer, though still burning into his own, as if she was searching his soul.

"You realize it's not any safer on the Dark Side than it is with the Resistance? It's actually much more dangerous to be where you are now. And to think that you feel safe."

Draco blanched. He felt his color drain ever so slightly, before he scowled at her. She was lying. She had to be. Voldemort had assured them all that the Resistance had died with Harry Potter. Those left that opposed him were in hiding, biding their time, knowing that they would be caught eventually, but stupidly refusing to come to him and choose life.

"You're lying," he said shortly. Her little speech was unprovoked and too-well rehearsed. He was confident now, knowing that this Mudblood was full of deceit. He couldn't trust a word she said to him.

"I'm not," she said gravely. "The Resistance is as strong as it ever was. The Resistance is just as strong as the Dark Side, and we're growing stronger every day. Except we have better ways of dealing with people. We don't resort to this degradation and violence…"

Draco stared at her. She seemed so calm and self-assured, but the little bitch had to be lying. Of course, she would do anything under the circumstances to save her own skin.

"Violence isn't degrading me," he said sternly, determinedly ignoring the rest of her words. "Violence shows power over others. It is degrading to the person who is on the receiving end."

He watched now as the fire lit behind her eyes once again, though perhaps it wasn't blazing as hard. She was trying to be patient with him, as if he was a small child causing a scene in a public place.

"Yes, you idiot, violence is degrading." Her voice was haughty and defiant, almost as if they were arguing while they were in their third year again. She continued, anger tinting her words: "To show such a profound distaste towards other human beings is degrading towards yourself. It's showing that you lack basic human emotions. It's showing that you are more machine than you are human. It's degrading yourself to act anything less than human, because human is what you are."

The words sunk in slowly, and for a split-second Draco almost believed she was telling the truth. She sounded reasonable, but Draco immediately pushed the thought from him mind and fixed an angry look on his face. He was buying time, slowly trying to reason with himself. He was so practiced at rationalizing his actions. So she thought this was the equivalent of degradation, did she?

"Shut up," he said simply, harshly. If he could just get her to admit how she was lying, and how wrong she was, it would rid him of the uncomfortable feeling in the pit of his stomach…

The fire seemed to smolder behind her eyes, and she shifted so that she was facing him more fully. "I'm not lying," she said slowly and clearly, as if he had trouble understanding English. "Violence is degrading to the perpetrator, and the Resistance is still strong and thriving."

"The Dark Lord would have told us. He would have prepared us," Draco interrupted, breaking her steady gaze. This Mudblood had no idea what she was talking about. It was clear that she was grappling with vague ideas, desperate to say anything that might save her own life. It was embarrassing, really, to be so hopeless in her position that she was lying through her teeth, fighting tooth and nail, to change his mind.

She didn't look surprised, though. In fact, she looked extremely calm, as though she had expected this response. "But of course Voldemort didn't tell you." Draco flinched at the name, not enjoying the way it rolled so carelessly over her tongue. "Why would he? If you know that there is an active group who is so fully opposed to your ideals, it might make you question your loyalty. Your morale will lower. You won't feel invincible if you think that someone might bring you to face the consequences of your actions. You're being manipulated. I assure you that Voldemort is fully aware of the Resistance, and he is fighting us personally in secret. You're only one of his pawns. Why do you think he's been gone all this time? Visiting family?" She snorted in appreciation of the humor of her own words. "You're being manipulated," she repeated. "Why do you think he wants me healthy enough for an interrogation? He needs information on the rest of the Resistance. He won't get it, though…"

He was stunned, though he took care to keep his emotions off of his face. His heart thudded uncomfortably in his chest. _"You have no idea what you're talking about," _he hissed in a very snakelike manner, and he was pleased to see Granger frown from her bed-prison, as though confused why he didn't believe her words. And for what seemed like the hundredth time, he turned, robes whipping dramatically behind him, and flew from the room. Howwy would collect the empty tray on his orders later. He didn't want to hear her spout her nonsense any longer.

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><p>The next time Draco saw her, he was carrying her dinner. It was the same as her 'elaborate' meal from before, though pure water replaced the pumpkin juice. He didn't say a word to her as he swept in, still angry and disturbed from their conversation earlier that day, and laid the tray on the table. Her calculating, intelligent eyes followed him the entire time, though she stayed silent.<p>

As he was leaving, determined not to sit with her this time, she spoke. "You know, we can hide you and your mother easily if you ever wanted to get away from all this terror. I know you don't enjoy it as much as you pretend to. We could keep you safer than Voldemort ever promised to. We both know how easily he can turn on you, after all."

Draco stopped in his tracks, but he didn't turn around. Again, his heart pounded. Could she possibly be speaking the truth? Dumbledore had made him the same offer once so long ago. It seemed to be in another lifetime. It had been years, though. She was likely still lying, but if there was a chance… If he could save himself and his mother from ever having to worry about punishments again… He needed proof, so he turned his head to look at her sideways. He wouldn't even show her that he was interested until he had proof. It was too dangerous. "Who else is in the resistance?" he asked simply, hoping that she would answer, hoping that he sounded nonchalant, as if he was asking for the benefit of the Dark side.

Granger shook her head sadly, looking down. "I can't tell you that. I would never betray my friends."

He blinked. "You're lying," he again stated calmly, breathing slowly and calmly through his nose. The two words seemed to have become a sort of mantra to him. But her refusal to give him names eased his mind just a little. That was all Draco needed to hear. He left again without a second thought.

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><p>His feet pounded unnecessarily hard in the stone hallways. The damn Mudblood had gotten in his head. He couldn't allow this. He was skilled with his Occlumency, but he knew that if the Dark Lord suspected that he had shown any sign of doubt, he would torture him into submission. Draco dreamt of a world where <em>crucio! <em>would never be yelled at him or his mother again. For one pathetic moment he had thought that the Mudblood might have a way out. He was tired of routine. If only she was telling the truth. If only she wasn't only looking to save her own ass.

His feet took him to the kitchens of the Manor, a large area with high stone walls and a stone floor, a thick wooden table sitting in the middle with high chairs. No human spent much time in here – this was mainly the house elves domain – but it every once in a while he would run into his mother sitting at the table, visiting with her sister and munching on whatever they demanded of the house elves, so Draco wasn't too surprised that the room wasn't empty. He approached them, grabbed a shining green apple from the bowl of fruit on the table, and sat next to his mother. Bellatrix's dark eyes had eagerly followed him the moment he had entered the room.

"Hello, Draco, dear," he mother said wearily, patting his leg as he sat. He was slightly startled how tired she sounded, as if she had been up for days, but he knew that she had been sleeping more than ever now that she wasn't waiting up at all hours of the night for Draco to return from his duties. He frowned slightly as his teeth crunched through the fruit. She shouldn't be worrying nearly as much now that he wasn't out doing dangerous things at night, so why did she sound so exhausted?

Bellatrix leaned forward over the table, her dark eyes boring into his own, wide with excitement. "I'm so proud of you, Draco," she began in a hushed and quick voice, as if she had been waiting to talk with him for days. "The Dark Lord will be so pleased with the commitment you are showing to him, forcing yourself to take care of that Mudblood." The last word was spat with disgust, and Draco paused his chewing for a moment, looked at his apple, and wiped Bellatrix's spittle off of the shining skin on his cloak before he continued eating. But he nodded, agreeing with Bellatrix. Though she frightened him with her intensity and the way she lovingly spoke of the Dark Lord, she was powerful and close to him, and it was essential that he remained in her good graces. She continued: "Soon the day will come when he returns to us," (Draco almost gagged over his apple when he saw the misty-eyed expression that had taken over her face) "and I will be so proud to stand next to you and call you my nephew!"

She was now looking off somewhere over his left shoulder, with the same misty-eyed expression, as though lost in a day dream. Draco swallowed. "I will be proud too," he said simply, not wanting to encourage this conversation to continue for much longer. He was almost done with his apple, after all, and he was looking forward to lying down for a good night of sleep at a normal hour.

To his surprise, his mother was the one to pick up the conversation, though he did not miss the slight stiffness to her words. "How is the Mudblood doing?" she asked, a graceful nonchalance tinting her words. "Will she be healthy enough for the Dark Lord to… see to her… when he returns?" It was clear that she was still incredibly uncomfortable with the situation.

Draco nodded again as he finished with his apple and tossed the core neatly into a waste bin across the room. Narcissa scowled at this behavior, but did not reprimand him this time. "Yes, she is much better. She's beginning to act like the insufferable idiot I once knew in school. I suspect if we let her try, she could probably stand a bit, and maybe walk a little, though she is still very physically weak. She seems to be gaining a bit of weight back, though. It's odd, considering how we don't give her much more than she needs to survive. She must have been severely underfed before..." He paused, wondering if he should continue, and decided that he would in order to gauge his mother and Aunt's reactions, perhaps for no other reason than to settle his doubts. "She keeps spouting nonsense, though. She keeps lying to me, as if she's trying desperately to save her own life. She claims The Resistance is still thriving, and that's where she came from."

As he suspected, his mother didn't bat an eye at this news. "But of course she is lying, Draco, dear," she said, but Bellatrix had snapped instantly from her reverie, her bulging brown eyes on Draco once again, though now they were burning with an anger he hadn't seen in her for at least a couple years now. Her face seemed to have paled slightly. If he wasn't used to her erratic movements, he would have flinched heavily.

"_But of course she is lying!" _Bellatrix repeated, though she hissed her words between her teeth, lacking every bit of elegance, however shaky it was, that his mother possessed. "How _dare _she say such things! I would like to…" Draco's blood ran cold, watching Bellatrix becoming more and more wild by the second, as if possessed. She was almost as frightening as the Dark Lord himself when she acted like this. She licked her dark lips. "I would like to ask her about her _resistance _myself, if you don't mind. After all… I haven't seen _Miss Granger _for quite some times now. Perhaps it's time for a bit of a reunion…"

Narcissa, so light and angelic looking next to her sister, looked frightened at this prospect and was clearly hoping Draco would deny her the privilege, but Draco knew there was no way out of it now. Bellatrix looked simply animalistic at the moment. There would be no way to talk her out of it without risking an explosion of her temper. "Fetch her for me now, Draco. Meet me in the drawing room. We'll get her to admit her lies. It will save the Dark Lord some trouble when he returns."

Draco stood slowly, not daring to argue with his Aunt, and was surprised to feel that his knees seemed a little unsteady. He bowed his head in acceptance, though said nothing, assuring her that he would see her shortly, and walked from the kitchen, back towards the winding hallways of the old servant's quarters. His movements felt robotic to him, and his heart thudded hard in his chest. This would not end well for Granger. Bellatrix was not a gentle person, and when she had first suggested that she get to see the Mudblood again, nothing but eagerness had shone behind her eyes. Draco knew that Bellatrix had not forgotten that the Mudblood had escaped from under her own nose not very long ago. She was probably itching for revenge. A chance to establish dominance. Draco inwardly cringed, realizing all of this. It would set back Granger's healing by quite a lot. He only hoped that Bellatrix didn't kill her. The Dark Lord would be so angry.

He pushed open the door to her room. She had evidently been sleeping, but was immediately sitting up, alert, waiting to see what he wanted. He looked at her for a second before he said anything, taking it all in. Only a shadow of a bruise remained under her left eye. An almost-healed scratch ran down her face, almost parallel to the faint scar on her cheek. Her brown eyes had regained some shine under her mess of brown hair, and she breathed heavily, her chest heaving, as he had surprised her. She looked at him expectantly, possibly thinking that the Dark Lord had returned at last.

Draco's throat had gone very dry with some emotion he couldn't quite place. Was it worry? It had to be worry that Bellatrix would ruin his project. He was most certainly not worrying about the Mudblood's well-being. "Come with me," was all he said, and he wordlessly waved his wand once to remove the charm from the bed. She looked at him for a long second, clearly thinking that she was about to face her death. Draco didn't correct her. Bellatrix would have her wishing for death soon anyway. It might as well be the same thing.

Slowly, testing to make sure the barriers were indeed gone, Granger slid her thin legs over the edge of the bed. She was still wearing the jeans they had found her in. Tattered and dirty, as were her wool socks. She stumbled for her boots which hadn't left their spot against the wall from when she had thrown them, and pulled them on. She was moving slowly, and it was frustrating to Draco. He knew that she was trying to drag out this moment. She was trying to think of a way to escape. He kept his wand trained on her, but he wasn't worried. He knew that she was unarmed and weak. Her legs were shaking as they struggled to support her weight. She would never make it far.

Once she was standing, her legs visibly unsteady, she glanced at the bed where she had spent the last week of her time, her gloves, hat, and winter coat still piled in a far corner, and seemed to shake her head to herself before beginning her shaky walk, her chin held high, her eyes defiant. Draco grasped her under her elbow to steady her and speed up the process. At this rate it would take them years to get to the drawing room. He wasn't sure he minded.

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><p><strong>a.n. I think tomorrow I will post two chapters as well, and then I can post the last one on Monday. Next chapter – well, I'm sure you have a general idea. :) Let me know what you think!<strong>


	4. Chapter 4

**a.n. This chapter is relatively short, but as I'm posting the next one immediately after, I'm not too worried about it. And without further ado, here is Chapter 4, followed closely by Chapter 5. **

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><p>The walk was slow and long, but twenty minutes later he was walking Granger through an open doorway into what he knew was the drawing room. A fire was roaring cozily in the fireplace against the opposite wall, but he immediately noticed that it was the only thing cozy about this room at this point. Bellatrix was standing by it, waiting expectantly, her arms crossed. With her were only a couple of others, undoubtedly whoever else had happened to be in the Manor at this time. Blaise stood to one side with Dolohov, a mad smile causing the older man's lips to curl back, revealing his yellowed teeth. Narcissa was next to Bellatrix, her arms also crossed, but her lips were tight, obviously disapproving of the torture at this time, but wanting to watch all the same.<p>

Bellatrix seemed to light up at the sight of them. Draco released Granger's elbow and evaluated her out of the corner of his eye. Her chin was still high. Her shoulders were back and her spine straight, and her eyes were shining with something. Tears? No, there was not a trace of fear on her face. Her eyes were shining with anger and determination. He almost laughed at the ridiculousness of it all. Bloody Gryffindors.

To the surprise of the room, once Draco had released Granger's elbow, she continued to limp forward, meeting Bellatrix in the middle of the room, looking her right in the eyes the entire time. "Look at the ickle Mudblood!" Bellatrix smiled, her words dripping with mirth.

What happened next, no one there could have predicted, though Draco suspected that anyone who had spent time with the Mudblood could have told them exactly what would happen. Granger spit directly into Bellatrix's face.

"_How dare you!" _she screeched, reacting immediately, and she drew her wand. Draco's heart skipped a beat. It had begun.

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><p>It had been three hours. Draco's stomach had been churning for the better part of that, and he knew that if he were to check, his hands would be shaking. Across the room, Blaise was frowning slightly, his lips pursed, a deep crease across his brow. Narcissa had left the room an hour ago, muttering something unintelligible under her breath. Draco guessed she went to lay down, her state being as fragile as it was.<p>

Granger was laying flat on her back, blood running from a deep cut on her forehead, forming a neat pool on the wooden floor. She was panting heavily in short little gasps, her lips parted and chapped, her skin dangerously pale, various cuts and bruises covering her body. Her face was swollen from the constant beatings. She was almost unrecognizable. Bellatrix had laughed ruthlessly, maniacally throughout the entire process, though Draco thought it was safe to say that her favorite part was when she drew up Granger's sleeve to find the word "mudblood" still scarred into her forearm. She had positively shouted with glee upon that discovery.

But Bellatrix was getting tired of this game. They could all tell. Granger hadn't said a single word the entire time. She had screamed plenty, but not a single word had passed through her lips. Her resolve was remarkable. It was obvious that Bellatrix was getting frustrated.

"_Just tell us, girl!" _she screeched at the body on the floor. _"Give us names and places, or admit that you were lying!"_

Granger said nothing.

"_Crucio!" _

And so it went, anger seeping deeper into Bellatrix, Draco unable to take his eyes off of his bleeding and dying classmate, remembering her asking only days earlier how her could stand to watch this.

He hadn't told her how much he hated it. Or how sick it made him feel. Now, watching it happen to someone who had correctly assumed most of his feelings surrounding the life he lived, who had been voicing things that he had been thinking for years, the sick feeling was infinitely worse. It was all he could do to keep the contents of his stomach in place.

As Bellatrix ended the curse, Granger slowly turned her head to the side, so that her eyes rolled for a second before they focused with immense effort on Draco, though still she did not say anything. In a flash, Draco remembered those eyes focusing so hard in the classroom, shining with the eagerness to learn. Now they were dull and drained of energy. Nausea played harder at his stomach, but still he did not move.

"_You're lying! Your lack of information proves it! You're lying!"_

Granger moved her head again, slowly, breathing shallow, until she was looking up at the enraged woman standing over her, her wand pointed at her heart.

"I wasn't lying," she finally said in a whisper. Her final answer after such a long period of silence shocked the room. Draco's sharp intake of breath wasn't the only one that echoed throughout the room. As if that wasn't enough, she continued, her voice suddenly strong, with conviction, as if she hadn't been being tortured within inches of her life for the past three hours. _"I wasn't lying. _We are still fighting, and we will win."

Bellatrix stared at her wide-eyed for a second, obviously caught off guard, before _"Crucio!"_

As Granger stopped screaming, she started to laugh hoarsely, in a truly insane way that reflected Bellatrix's own hysteria. Draco was chilled to the core. He had never seen anything like this. He had never felt so disturbed. She had resisted torture with some difficulty last time until she finally gave in, or so he thought. But this… this was something else. This was madness coming to manifest in Granger.

"What," Granger managed to say, though her voice was straining now. "Voldemort didn't tell you? He must not trust you as much as you think he does. It doesn't matter. You will all be brought to justice soon anyway. Do your worst." Though her voice cracked with pain at the end,

"_You dare speak his name?" _Bellatrix continued furiously, spit flying from her mouth, her eyes wide and filled with hatred, and she raised her wand again, and Draco suddenly knew that his aunt was going to deliver the final blow, so he quickly stepped forward.

"_Bella!" _he said sharply, and she immediately turned her crazed eyes on him. "Aunt Bella, we need her to be alive. That's enough for tonight."

She looked for a minute as though she might curse Draco instead, but instead she stared at him for a full thirty seconds, her mind apparently working very fast behind her wide, terrifying eyes, before she lowered her wand. "Of course you're right," she admitted, her voice suddenly soft and calm. "The Dark Lord wants her for himself."

And without another word, she left the room. For a moment, it was silent except for Granger's heavy breathing before Dolohov let out a short laugh. "My, that was entertaining, wasn't it?" He rubbed his dirty hands together. "It should be an even better show when the Dark Lord returns," and he too left, leaving Draco and Blaise staring at the body on the floor as blood continued to pool around her head. _Red… like his own blood._ It looked as though she had finally lost consciousness.

Draco was light-headed. The coppery-scent was strong and flooded his nostrils, causing his nausea to come in huge waves. His vision seemed to swim in and out of focus, and he found himself hoping to Merlin that he didn't pass out. "Blaise," he said quietly, his voice only slightly strained. He hoped his friend didn't notice. "Will you help me get her back downstairs?" Blaise only nodded, as if he too thought he might have trouble speaking.

* * *

><p>Neither Draco nor Blaise said another word until they had deposited Granger's limp body back onto her bed-prison. Immediately Draco called for Howwy, who appeared with a crack, various potions already held in his arms, having been alerted earlier what was going to happen. "Tend to her," Draco said simply as he conjured a chair and sat by the door.<p>

Blaise watched for a minute then turned to leave. "I'll see you later, mate," he said lowly. Draco didn't answer.

Draco sat there for a long time, wordlessly watching Howwy tend to wounds and occasionally tilt a potion down Granger's throat. It was his job to tend to the Mudblood, and he was thankful that the others knew this and did not come looking for him, for he was sure that he looked like a mess, having ran his fingers through his hair far too many times as Howwy mopped blood from her pale skin.

Far from convincing him that Granger had been lying, Draco was now only convinced that she had been telling him the truth the entire time. The Resistance was still alive and strong.

Now Draco sat with his head in his hands, going over the most sickening torture session he had ever seen in his life in his head. For the first time, he felt as though he had really noticed blood. It was a beautiful color of red, the essence of life. He thought about how often he had not only facilitated situations like the one he had just watched, but how often he had actually taken part in such violence himself. He thought about how it felt to be the inflictor of the pain, showing power over the person, and he thought about how it felt to watch Bellatrix do her own thing.

Something clicked in Draco's head, and suddenly the roles in a torture situation reversed, though he felt as though things had only been made clearer to him. Having just watched Bellatrix desperately trying to get answers from Granger and failing again and again, Draco felt as though he had reached an epiphany. It wasn't the inflictor that had the power. No, the person being tortured was the one in control of the situation. It was the Torturer who was so desperate for answers. It was the Torturer who was not in control of the situation.

Draco sat like that all night as Howwy bobbed around the still body of Granger. Every now and then he would focus his attention on the various healing the elf was doing, wrinkling his brow, worried that Bellatrix had gone too far and killed the girl, but the elf seemed to know exactly what he was doing.

Just as he felt as though the sun had surely risen by this point, Howwy turned to face him and bowed until his long nose almost brushed the dirty stone floor. "Howwy had done all he can at this time, sir," he said in his squeaky voice. "Howwy will fetch food and water for when she wakes up." And with a crack, the elf disappeared only to reappear seconds later with a tray that was bigger than him. He struggled to set it on the nightstand before bowing again and disappearing, presumably for the kitchens to prepare breakfast.

Still Draco sat. Granger's swelling had gone down and many of her major cuts and bruises had been healed as much as the dark magic would allow. Splints kept each of her wrists straight. Draco assumed they had both been broken when Bellatrix had raised her high into the air with her wand only to slam her back down hard on the wooden floor. Granger had put her arms out to break her fall. They had all heard the sickening cracks, though it could have realistically been any part of her body that broke.

He felt sick again, thinking of the night before, and he felt a slight hysteria begin to bubble in his throat. _I never want to take part in something like that again…_ he thought, shocking himself. He remembered the pleasure that Bellatrix and Dolohov had both visibly received. Draco had felt none of that. He put his face in his hands once more, choking back a sob, feeling like a helpless little boy for the first time in a long time.

What had he gotten himself into?

* * *

><p>The next couple days, Granger grew stronger once again. Draco never managed to be there while she was awake, but her food kept disappearing, so he knew that she had to be awake at some points. He wasn't sure he wanted to come across her awake anyway. He didn't want to hear her accusations. He didn't want the face the possibility that she might not talk to him anymore. He didn't want to see the angry expression on her face. Now he lay in his bed, remembering the blank stare she had focused on him while laying on the floor, blood dripping from a gaping wound on her head, and he shuddered.<p>

He knew now that he never wanted to witness something like that again. But what could he do? Brutality was part of his nature. It was his job to inflict such pain, and he didn't think he could do it anymore. He had grown up preparing for the life he was living, and suddenly he was realizing that it wasn't the life he wanted for himself.

Gradually, Draco woke himself up more fully, and decided to walk to the kitchens for a late breakfast, hoping that he wouldn't see anyone he had been successfully avoiding the past few days; namely, his aunt. He knew from past experience that she would still have a crazy glint in her eyes, lingering still even after days have passed from the last time she inflicted pain so extreme.

But luck was not on his side. Draco kept his face impassive as he entered the kitchens to find his mother and aunt sitting at the table once again, though his heart leapt in… in what? Fear? His palms were sweating. Yes, he was scared of his own aunt. They both greeted him as he entered and plucked his standard green apple from the bowl of fruit on the table between them. Before he could retreat though, Bellatrix's fingers curled around his upper arm, her nails pressing a little too hard into his skin through his robes.

"How is our Mudblood faring after her little excursion?" Bellatrix asked sweetly, causing Draco's blood to run cold.

"She would be better if you had kept better control of yourself," Draco surprised himself with his own insolence, and was not shocked in the least when his aunt slapped him hard across his face in answer, knocking him off balance and nearly sending him to the ground.

"Bella!" his mother yelled at her, but the dark witch said nothing in response. She just watched with glittering eyes as Draco straightened his robes and left with his apple, as if this sort of thing happened every day. For Bella, he supposed those sorts of things _did _happen every day.

Now his feet took him straight to the old servant's quarter, and his heart pounded uncomfortably in his chest. He knew this was it. He couldn't take it anymore. His aunt had just erased any doubt that he might have been harboring. He needed to leave this life. He wanted to live without the constant fear that he would be hit or tortured or killed at any moment for the slightest slip-up.

He knew now that he was the prisoner here. He was not as free to do what he wanted. He was more of a prisoner in his own house than Granger was, and she was confined to a bed.

He burst through Granger's door with much more energy than he had intended, but stopped in his tracks when he noticed that she was awake, though very tired-looking. Her eyelids dropped slightly, though she watched him interestedly as he entered. He took a deep breath. One more time. He had to ask, just so he knew for sure…

"You're lying," he said, but his voice sounded weak even to him, as if he was pleading with her to tell him that she had made it all up.

Once again, Granger shook her head, slowly and sadly, her tangled mess of brown hair moving with her. "I'm not," she said quietly. "It would be stupid and wrong to lie to you." His breath hitched in his throat. He still felt like a vulnerable little boy in front of her, and he hated it. "It would be stupid because I am weak. You could easily overpower me. I hold nothing over you except a vague promise of freedom. It would be wrong because I would never be able to lead anyone astray like that. Not even you. You would have nowhere safe to go. You would be hated by both Voldemort and the Resistance. I would be sentencing you to death. I can't do that."

He didn't answer at first. They both stared at each other while these words sunk in, and he considered everything he had seen and heard the past few days. This was it.

"I want out," he finally said, focusing hard on not letting his voice crack. "I want out now. I want this life I'm living to end, and I need your help."

Granger smiled, and though the action was slight, it caused a warm feeling of hope to spread to the tips of Draco's fingers. It was a genuine smile. He felt the relief wash over him, and he knew even before she began to speak that she would agree to help him.

* * *

><p><strong>a.n. Huuuge turning point! This is one of my favorite chapters. I can just picture Draco realizing that he is more of a prisoner than his actual prisoner. I hope I did a good enough job explaining the thoughts he was having. It was a challenge for sure.<strong>


	5. Chapter 5

**a.n. …I actually have nothing to say this time. Enjoy!**

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><p>The Dark Lord would be returning in five days, and that fact weighed heavily on Draco's mind at every conscious moment. Even while unconscious, he tossed and turned in his bed, cold sweat covering his body, unable to escape the fear that gripped at his heart. He and Granger had been working hard in the time they spent together, coming up with a plan of escape, for no one would exactly let Draco walk out with the Mudblood, as if they were going on a friendly walk.<p>

Granger was still weak from her encounter with Bellatrix, but her cheeks flushed with excitement, and her eyes brightened considerably the moment they had begun their planning. There wasn't much they could do to prepare, but Draco had drawn a very detailed map of Malfoy Manor, labeling clearly the front door, which was the only exit that would take them off of the property. They would have to make it a quarter mile to pass the gates in order to disapparate. Draco had asked many times where they were headed, but each time Granger brushed him off, telling him not to worry and that she knew exactly where to go. She constantly assured him that they would be safe.

This infuriated Draco, but he trusted that Granger with her Gryffindor blood had been telling the truth earlier when she had said that she would never betray Draco, because it would be as good as killing him herself. He had no choice but to trust her anymore.

He had also struggled with the idea of not telling his mother until the second they were leaving, but it was something Granger insisted on.

"It's for her own safety as much as it is for ours," she had told him. "You know she spends a lot of time with Bellatrix. What if Bellatrix looks into her mind?"

Granger finally convinced him of this by pointing out that his mother would, of course, follow him, because she loves him, and because she would be killed if she didn't for allowing them to escape under her nose.

Granger spent days studying the map of the Manor, asking Draco about windows, halls, and having him mark with x's where the other Death Eaters generally congregated.

Draco's heart seemed to be pounding twice as hard and fast as usual the past few days, but he went on with his daily routines, as if he wasn't planning betrayal, though he was edgy and kept his Occlumency walls up and strong at all times. He knew Granger was right – it would be just like Bellatrix to pry around in all of their minds 'just in case'. Her eagerness to please the Dark Lord was a danger to everyone.

Granger had warned him to pack a bag and shrink it so he could keep it on him at all times, just in case the Dark Lord returned earlier than expected. He had scoffed at this suggestion, thinking her paranoid, but did as she said. In his bag he had, with some hesitation, also hidden Granger's wand, which he had stolen back from the closet they had been storing it in. He was jumpy at all times, but Granger just seemed more alive, as if she thrived under this kind of pressure. All of it was beginning to come together.

They were going to leave during the night, two days before the Dark Lord was due to return, and this made Draco very nervous. They wanted to keep as much time between their disappearance and Voldemort as possible, but Granger was still so weak from the torture, she could hardly walk for more than a few steps. Because of this, they needed to wait as long as possible so she would have as much strength for their exit as possible.

It was too close of a brush in Draco's opinion, but he knew that it gave them the best chance possible at getting out alive. He couldn't help feeling that they had overlooked something major, though, and something was going to go horribly wrong.

* * *

><p>The night had finally come. The house was mostly empty, though there were always a few Death Eaters lurking around the halls, generally being shady. Regardless, it was almost an ideal situation, and Draco stealthily walked the halls, keeping to the shadows, until he arrived in Granger's rooms. She was just lacing her boots up tight and high. Her bushy locks were already trying to pull free of a strip of fabric she had used to pull her hair back. She started when the door closed behind him, but looked up, caught his eye, and grinned.<p>

Draco thought she might be insane. She seemed to be getting a thrill out of the situation they were about to put themselves in.

_Dead if I do, dead if I don't, _he reassured himself. He would be killed if they were caught. But if he didn't even try to get himself out of this life, he knew that he wouldn't last longer than a couple more months since he had started feeling regret. Regret was not something that was acceptable in the circle of Death Eaters, and it was almost impossible to hide.

He pulled his bag out, which was full mainly of his clothes, some for his mother, food, and personal items, but he dug around in it until he found Grangers wand, and he withdrew it and held it out, completely astounded by how perfectly steady his hand was as he did so.

"Thank you," she breathed, eagerly taking the wand in her hands, and checking it over.

Draco snorted at this. "It's in perfect order. There was no tampering done in case the Dark Lord wanted you to have it so…" he trailed off awkwardly, and Grangers big brown eyes looked at him, slightly amused, slightly concerned.

"-So I could be a little more entertaining while I was dying?" she questioned, and Draco nodded, his throat dry. They were really going to do this. Granger laughed shortly. "Voldemort is a fool. It would have been a mistake to give me back my wand."

Draco raised an eyebrow at her confidence, but said nothing about her presumptuous attitude. His Dark Mark was beginning to burn slightly on his arm. The Dark Lord was drawing closer. The sooner they left, the better."Shall we go?" he asked as she finished with her boots and magicked her hair into a tighter pony tail.

She muttered a spell and something silvery shot from the end of her wand and disappeared into the darkness. He stared at her. "What the fuck was that?"

"A message," she answering simply as she ripped the splints from each of her wrists in turn without so much as a flinch, tossing the remnants of the binding to the corner of the room. Draco stared. There was no way her wrists were fully healed by now, yet she was acting like the hulk. "Yes, let's go now," she said, unfazed.

He didn't move. Instead his eyes narrowed. "A message to whom, exactly?" he demanded. That certainly hadn't been part of the plan.

"To the Resistance, of course," she sighed, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "I've been missing for, what, two weeks? I've probably been presumed dead by this point, and anyone resembling me who suddenly showed up would be treated as in imposter. I had to warn them and send my proof that it was me."

The answer was acceptable, and made perfect sense to Draco, though he did not relax his stare. He was too on-edge. "Fine," he said shortly. "Let's go now."

Granger was moving with remarkable ease for someone that had been almost sedentary for two weeks, not to mention how she had endured numerous injuries, though she was a little slower than Draco had been hoping. It was obvious she was a little stiff in her movement, but she took care not to make a single sound in the halls as they flitted through the shadows towards his mother's room, and for that he was thankful. They were almost to the last staircase they would have to climb when his Dark Mark flared with pain at the same time Draco heard something. His heart immediately began pounding in his throat. There were footsteps coming around the corner, though they were oddly light and hurried. A feeling of dread took over his body, and on instinct, he shoved Granger behind a tapestry on the wall, hoping to Merlin that she had the presence of mind to do something to hide her feet.

With a sweeping motion, none other than the Dark Lord himself appeared around the corner, energetic with delight upon spotting Draco. With a burst of energy, Draco reinforced his Occlumency walls as hard as he could, straining, doing his best to keep his face blank as he did so. _This was not good. _He had no idea the Dark Lord had already returned.

"Ahhh, Draco!" Voldemort breathed in his cold, high-pitched voice. "I was just coming to find you. Yes, I know, I'm a bit early, but I don't think that our special guest tonight will mind, do you?"

"Of course not, my lord," he muttered, bowing his head. Excitement laced with the Dark Lords voice, providing a chilling effect, and Draco hoped and hoped again that he could not hear the thudding of his heart as easily as Draco could.

Voldemort carefully touched the tips of his long, white fingers together in front of him, taking on an almost angelic pose, though his words still portrayed nothing but evil. "Bring her to the drawing room. I will be waiting for her there. You have done well, Draco. You will be rewarded for this. Your father would be proud."

Draco broke the Dark Lord's gaze to stare respectfully at the floor, worried that his walls would not be enough to stop the Dark Lord from hearing the sheer panic that was bouncing around in his head.

"Thank you, my lord. Thank you," he muttered again, acting as gracious as he could. "I shall bring her up immediately."

As swiftly as he had come, the Dark Lord left around the corner, and Draco counted to sixty before he allowed himself to breathe a shaky breath of relief. He closed his eyes for just a second, to regain his composure, then pulled the tapestry back to reveal a semi-transparent Granger. Her eyes were wide, and she whispered, "I only had time to disillusion myself. Thank Merlin he didn't sense me standing here…"

Draco nodded and grabbed her hand to pull her along, saying nothing. They had to get to his mother's room fast, before anyone else went to wake her, and then they were going to have to hope to Merlin for the best luck of their lives, because they would have to descend a set of stairs that ended in front of the door to the drawing room, making them all extremely visible to anyone who happened to be facing the hallway. He cringed, trying to ignore this detail, as they wound through the halls and up sets of stairs until they came to stop, breathing heavily, in front of the door to his mother's chamber. _Please still be here… please still be here…_

He turned to Granger, who was still disillusioned, though partially visible. "Stay here and guard the door," he whispered. "I should only be a couple minutes. She will listen to reason. And _don't be seen_," he stressed, and she nodded, her lips pursed with determination. She stood soldier-like in front of the door, a good view of both ends of the hallway around her, and Draco pushed open the door.

"_Mother," _he said quietly, and his mother stirred in her bed.

"Draco, dear, what is it? Is everything alright?" she asked, sitting up at once as she noticed the energy that was radiating off of his skin.

"The Resistance is real. We're leaving. Right now. We are leaving this life to go into hiding. I have your clothes packed already, just put on a heavy robe to stay warm."

She stared at him, unmoving, mouth slightly open. "Wh-what?" she asked, and Draco felt his frustration building. Hadn't he been perfectly clear? The Dark Lord would be growing impatient. They had no time for this.

"We're leaving now. I guess you can stay if you want, but there really wouldn't be a point, as you would be killed immediately," he said harshly, and immediately regretted his tone as he watched her eyes fill with tears. But he didn't have a choice. It was for the best. Narcissa sniffled once before standing and pulling on her heaviest robe to protect her from the cold air and pulling on her pair of snow boots. He was grateful that she didn't hesitate further.

"Where will we go?" she whispered, and Draco was relieved to hear the determination in her voice. She was beginning to understand exactly the risk they were taking.

He shook his head. "I don't know. Granger knows of somewhere safe."

Narcissa snorted slightly, showing her faith in the Mudblood that would be leading them to freedom, but she said nothing. She would follow her son to the ends of the Earth. Draco just hoped he wasn't leading her astray. As soon as she finished tying her boots, she grabbed her wand, and Draco grabbed her other hand to pull her quietly back into the hall.

Granger was standing there, now fully visible, with two unconscious figures in black robes at her feet. She looked up at Draco's face, her eyes wide, and stuttered, "I – I didn't see them coming! One of them must have seen the distortion from my charm. He sent a "Finite" at me, then him and his friend rushed at me-"

"-That doesn't matter!" Draco interrupted impatiently. "We've got to go now. We'll be passing right by everyone," he choked back the fear from his voice, and Granger immediately took over where he had left off, making sure that Narcissa was filled in.

"We'll walk right by them, but it's the only way out. We're making a run for it. I'll apparate us out as soon as we pass the gates." Narcissa's eyes were still glistening, but her face hardened. It was obvious she recognized this as a suicide mission, but there was no backing out now. "Are you guys ready?" The Malfoys nodded, and they all crept together through the carpeted halls, wands held high, Granger leading the way.

Draco couldn't remember having ever been so frightened in his life. Even those times before he had faced the Dark Lord one-on-one for something he had done wrong, he had figured he was going to get out alive. Even during his sixth year, when he was sure he was going to fail and get himself and his entire family killed, he had not been so afraid, for there was still a chance that he would make it out alive. But at this point, Draco was positive the three of them were walking straight towards their deaths. It would take a miracle for no one to notice them descending the stairs.

But they were at the top now, and there was nothing they could do except descend one stair at a time, careful not to make a single sound or even breathe too heavily, for any little action could draw attention to them. Draco took the first step, so as to guide the others to avoid the stairs that creaked. He was followed closely by Granger, and his mother right behind her. He gripped the railing with his left hand tightly, turning his knuckles white, and he held his wand high in his right as they went, eyes on the open door and they got lower and closer to becoming fully visible.

And suddenly he was. And he was making eye contact with another Death Eater, who had obviously been watching since Draco's feet first appeared, possibly wondering about the strange stealth behind the steps. Draco's heart stopped, and so did his movement, and he stared into the eyes of his best friend Blaise Zabini, whose mouth had fallen slightly open, clearly having guessed exactly what was going on. He could probably see at least one other set of feet from where he was sitting.

_This is it… this is the end… _Draco gritted his teeth as Blaise cleared his throat, preparing to make a mad dash for the front door as _Avada Kedavras _would undoubtedlywhoosh over his head, but then Blaise did the opposite of what Draco had been expecting. Instead of pointing directly in front of him, to alert the many other Death Eaters that were milling about the room, kissing the hem of the Dark Lord's robes and welcoming him back, Blaise turned his back on Draco and pointed at the fireplace on the opposite wall. "My Lord, will you be doing this in the clear floor space in front of the fireplace? I would like to know so I can get a good view." And every person in the drawing room turned to look at the place Blaise was pointing at, as if to evaluate its potential.

Draco didn't wait to hear the Dark Lord's answer. He turned his head just enough to whisper, _"Run!" _behind him, and him and Granger and his mother were out of sight of the drawing room in an instant.

A pang pulled in Draco's chest, and he suddenly understood that watching Bellatrix the other night had changed something inside of Blaise too. _I'll get you out someday soon, _he promised his best friend in his head as they sprinted towards the front door and wretched it open with too much force. It swung open and rebounded against the wall. The noise wasn't loud, but it seemed to split through the air like a gun shot, and Draco flinched. At that moment, the quiet chatter that had been emitting from the drawing room suddenly went deathly quiet, and Draco heard the high voice of the Dark Lord split through the room.

"_Were we expecting anyone else?" _he demanded sharply. No one needed to answer. Voldemort was already at the end of the hall staring right at them, his snake-like nostrils flaring, his red eyes glowing with fury.

"_GO!" _Granger shouted, pushing both Draco and his mother out the door in front of her, though she followed right on their heels. How she was keeping up with them considering how wobbly her legs already were, Draco had no idea, but he kept running, pulling his mother along by the hand, breathing hard, panic knotting in his stomach, head whirling with the speed at which things were happening, all the while listening to the furious shouts of the Dark Lord while Granger dueled impressively with him over her shoulder, kicking up snow, occasionally turning to face him, running backwards, to send a particularly powerful spell. She never stopped running and never did she slow down. She never stopped the string of spells that poured from her mouth as they ran for their lives, though Voldemort was gaining quickly on them. Draco turned to look once, stumbling as he noticed the glowing red eyes not even ten feet behind them.

"_Don't look back, you idiot!" _Granger took the time to scream before blocking a jet of purple light from them. His legs pumped furiously under him, his mother breathed heavily, almost hysterically next to him. They were almost at the gate… and he flicked his wand to throw it open. They were so close…

The second they had each taken a step on the other side, Granger lunged forward, grabbing both Draco and his mother painfully tight around the wrists before turning on the spot. As they twisted, Draco's eyes met Voldemort's, whose teeth were bared, and a jet of green light was beginning to erupt from his wand not three feet away from them. But then they were gone, twisting through space for a second that seemed like an eternity.

* * *

><p><strong>a.n. Next chapter to be posted (probably) on Monday. I never update on weekends. <strong>


	6. Chapter 6

With a jarring _thud, _Draco's feet slammed into the grounded, and he stumbled to stay balanced. Next to him, he felt Granger fly forward and hit the ground, as if she had never righted herself from the head-first mid-leap she had been in when she disapparated them. They were in the middle of a forest filled with tall, skeleton-thin trees. There was very little snow on the ground here, though everything glistened with a fresh frost. Squinting, he thought he could spot little lights between the trees in the distance. Were they camp fires? He reached down to grab Granger once again by the elbow to lift her back onto her feet. She leaned heavily on him, her knees shaking with the effort of it. He didn't know if it was from the adrenaline or from the pain she was undoubtedly in, but he didn't get a chance to ask her, as many voices suddenly overtook the silence they had originally found themselves in.

"_Hermione!" _came a shout, and others followed, coming from the complete darkness. Draco struggled to see, his eyes having not adjusted yet, but before he had a chance, a jet of light came from nowhere, binding him and his mother facing away from the commotion. They didn't even have time to react, having still been trying to find their footing. So this was how it was going to be. He had been betrayed. He fought hard against the bindings, snarling, trying to rip off the invisible ropes by pure strength and will, but the more he fought the tighter they became, cutting ruthlessly into his arms, and finally he was forced to give up.

Still the voices shouted from around him. _"Is it secure? Are they bound? Did anyone else follow?" _The hurried questions were shouted between groups of people, though Draco had no idea how many people might be surrounding them in the dark. The questions only reaffirmed what he had originally thought – When Granger had sent her little message, she must have warned them who she was bringing. She had set Draco up.

Fury pulsed though his veins, but he forced himself to focus, gritting his teeth in the process. Though he couldn't easily turn his head due to the curse, next to him he heard his mother sniffle daintily. He knew that she was crying. _Focus! _he scolded himself, and so he zeroed in on the voices he heard, still shouting with excitement, and picked at them with his brain until he found one he recognized. _Granger._

"Untie them!" she was shouting at someone. "They've done nothing wrong! They saved my life!" Could that be right? Was she defending them now? Perhaps he had been too quick to assume that she had turned on him…

"You can't know that, 'Mione!" a deeper voice answered. It was a voice Draco knew well, though he could not place it, and that fact began to irritate him. He should know that voice. "What if they were only pretending? What if they were sent here as spies?"

Gradually the shouting around him was dying down. It seemed that everyone was beginning to listen in on the conversation Draco had chosen.

There was a dull thud. It sounded as though Granger had stomped her foot hard against the packed ground. _"Because! _They risked their own lives to save mine! We all almost died tonight! I already warned you of that with my Patronus_. Now untie them!"_ So that was what had shot out of her wand before they left.

Another voice joined the mix. A deep, even, rumbling voice, that seemed to carry authority and reason with it. "Hermione, we know that Draco is dangerous. We've been having him tailed during the evenings for months. You should know that. You were part of the team. We've seen what he can do-"

"-He wanted out! He told me! He's changed!"

He had been being watched? For how long? What for? At least that explained why Granger had been in London in the first place. He wondered how many others they were tailing at that very moment. There was some more muttering surrounding Draco and his mother, and another stomp, but the conversation seemed to be coming to a close, and Draco could not make out what they were saying anymore. His poor mother sniffled again. How he wished he could reach out to hold her hand. He was the one that dragged her into this, after all.

"FINE!" the familiar voice shouted once more, and Draco felt the curse on him lift.

He didn't move right away, not wanting to startle the great number of people that were apparently surrounding him, probably all with their wands drawn, but then he slowly raised his arms to rub the pain of the binds out of them, and then he turned to face where he knew Granger had been arguing. His mother remained motionless. Perhaps they had only lifted the curse on him. He peered between the trees, squinting to focus on a group of figures that all stood watching him, and a sudden feeling of faintness overtook him.

Draco felt his face pale. Standing there, in the trees, maybe ten feet from him, were at least fifty wizards and witches. Many he immediately recognized, many he knew he had never seen before in his life. All of them were staring at him with great interest. A few still had their wands cautiously raised. His eyes travelled all over them as his mouth grew progressively drier and drier. _The Resistance is alive and well… _She had told him herself. His eyes came to rest on Granger, whose face was shining with tears, highlighting the thin scar on her face, but she was smiling slightly at him, almost sheepishly. On her left was the Weasel, who he had fully expected to see, his stupid freckles showing up clearly even in the dark of the woods, a deep frown causing his features to crease. When his eyes traveled to Granger's, right, though, Draco couldn't help himself. He felt his eyes widen. He felt his mouth fall open and his face drain itself completely of blood, and he felt the hard ground when he fell to his knees. Suddenly who knew whose voice he had been having trouble placing.

The cheeky fucker just stared right back at him, distaste etched on his face.

"You're supposed to be dead," Draco finally muttered from his place on the ground, not caring how un-Malfoy-like his reaction had been. He was at these peoples' mercy, after all.

Potter almost smiled at the blatant surprise Draco was showing. "I guess we've been doing a good job of keeping that under wraps, at least," he said bitterly as he approached him on the ground.

"Draco!" Granger cut in, also stepping forward quickly, unsteadily. "I'm so sorry about their reaction. I guess I wasn't clear enough with my Patronus…." She trailed off, looking uncertain.

"Can you free my mother?" he asked, feeling as pathetic as he ever had, sitting on the frosted ground, looking up at Harry Potter and Hermione Granger.

Potter shook his head slowly. "Hermione told us everything. We know that she didn't have a choice but to come. We can't risk it."

"But I can keep her safe, right?" Draco asked harshly, directing the question at Hermione, who had promised him that she would be safe. If she had lied, he would never forgive her. He never thought that he would have to rely so heavily on just the word of another person, but here he was, sitting on the dirt in the woods, clinging desperately to every word his old school rivals said to him.

"We can arrange for her to be taken somewhere where she'll be completely safe. We know the danger you are in, and we will protect you. Kingsley knows of a cottage she can stay at. There are other… uh… refugees there. The place is under powerful protection, and she'll be untouchable there." Potter droned on and on, adapting a business-like tone now. He was obviously trying to remain professional to hide his dislike for the two remaining Malfoys in front of him. Draco didn't care at that moment, though. All that mattered was that his mother would be safe. _He _would be safe. They had gotten out, and they were going to live.

A voice came from behind Draco, startling them all. "I just want my son to be safe," Narcissa said softly, and though Draco knew that she had been crying, her voice was even and demure. "I will do anything to keep my son safe."

Hermione nodded slightly, as if she had been expecting this reaction. "Kingsley will take you there now. Know that there are highly trained wizards there at all times. He will side-along apparate with you, as it would be safest if you did not know exactly where you are. Draco will be by shortly. We have things to discuss with him."

Draco watched as a tall black wizard stepped forward and gently grasped his mother's arm at the elbow. "Right this was, Mrs. Malfoy," he said in his deep rumbling voice before the two of them disappeared. So that was who he had heard earlier. The one that had mentioned how Draco had been being watched.

Slowly the watchful eyes in the trees were beginning to thin out, probably going back to whatever they were doing now that the exciting arguments about the Malfoy's fate had been decided. Now only a few were left standing in front of Draco, and so he stood slowly, brushing the dirt off his knees, to face them all eye-to-eye. The Weasel was still standing some ways back, a bit red in the face, though he looked much calmer. Perhaps the war had taught him some control.

"Let's go to the campsite to talk," Hermione said briskly, but Potter frowned. She stopped after a couple steps, when she realized they weren't following her, and caught sight of his look. "Harry, I apparated them here. He doesn't know where he is. He would never be able to find his way back. And like I said, he's left them for good. He cannot betray us, because the moment he goes back, he'll be killed."

It was grim, Draco realized, but true, and it seemed to settle most of Potter's doubts, for he hesitantly began walking after Granger. Weasel joined them somewhat reluctantly. And so Draco Malfoy, against everything he had been raised and taught to believe, followed the Trio weaving through the trees towards salvation, stepping over uneven ground. Granger stumbled heavily, and by reflex Draco reached out to take her elbow, but he stopped himself as both Weasel and Potter took hold of her to guide her. He had almost forgotten that it wouldn't be his task to take care of her anymore.

Only a few minutes had passed in silence before bon fires began to make themselves clear through the trees, and then many identical tents became apparent, all a dark green and nailed neatly to the ground in little rows, and all looking distinctly muggle-like. He heard Granger sigh. "Home sweet home," she muttered. Draco started. This was really where they had been living? It was no wonder she had been nearly-starved when they found her. There couldn't be much to eat around.

They walked through the site for a short distance, and Draco couldn't help but look around in wonder. The tents were all unmarked, but it looked as though they were set up with some sort of order behind it. He couldn't tell one from the other, but the general movement of the people in the camp suggested that they all knew which tent was which. There were people everywhere, despite the late hour. It seemed that news of Granger's return with the Malfoy boy had spread. Everyone was peering out their tent flaps, sitting in front of their fires, talking happily with others, and every single set of eyes followed them on their walk. Finally they came to a tent towards the end and ducked inside; Weasel first, escorting Hermione, then Draco followed closely by Potter.

Draco was grateful to see that at least the inside had been magicked to a comfortable living area. At a dining table to the side sat none other than the idiot Longbottom, an older Weasley, the young Weasley, and McGonagall. All of them were watching them expectantly. They must have been warned that they were on their way. "Please take a seat, Mr. Malfoy," McGonagall said calmly as they entered. "We have much to discuss."

Why was it that he immediately felt as if he was a school boy in trouble with her again? But he did as he told, hoping that they would give him the safety he craved if he just indulged their every request. The trio all sat down as well, Hermione next to him. Was this some sort of trial?

* * *

><p>They all sat at that table for well over an hour. At one point Granger had stood to make a pot of tea for them, but she had quickly fallen back into her chair, looking confused. "My strength seems to have left me again," she said softly as Potter rushed to do the job for her.<p>

"Yes, I'm pretty sure you were running on pure nerves of steel earlier," Draco had muttered to her.

McGonagall seemed to be acting as an unofficial interrogator, though the oldest Weasley, who Draco now knew was Bill, Ginny, and Longbottom jumped in from time to time, all of them seeming to be officially ranked somehow within their community. They asked him for every detail he could possibly provide, which was exhausting. He told them time and time again that even though the headquarters had been in his house, he didn't know much. He was so low rank due to his previous blunders.

Finally, they had asked Draco and Hermione to tell the story of their collaboration and escape. They told it together. Granger began with how she had been on a patrol when she was attacked from behind, and Draco picked up from when he and Blaise found her body in the snow. They continued, filling in the gaps that the other didn't know, causing everyone to cringe and gasp with horror, especially when Draco relayed the torture his Aunt had performed on her with nauseating detail, but he forced himself to plow through it. They had asked for every little thing they could remember, after all. Granger relayed the time Draco had come to her, finally admitting that he wanted out, and how she had believed him the instant she had looked at his eyes. Draco cringed in embarrassment at this point. "The eyes are the windows to the soul," his mother always used to tell him. Later, it had become a warning. He knew that he could keep his face impassive, but his eyes often betrayed his true feelings. Finally, they came to the end of their tale, and Draco spoke eagerly of the amazing spellwork and dueling skills Hermione had used to save their lives.

She had blushed at this. "It was simple, really," she had said.

"No, it was brilliant. You were running backwards and still managed to hold off the Dark Lord single handedly. I've never seen anything like it before."

At that, she had allowed herself to look properly proud of herself. Potter and Weasel beamed at her.

At the end of their speech, there was a long beat of silence while everyone allowed the story to sink in. "Well, Draco," McGonagall finally said, breaking the tension, "You've made the right decision by coming to us."

He breathed a sigh of relief. He had passed judgment. They believed him, and now he and his mother would be safe from their previous life.

"Professor," he began, for one more thing was weighing heavily on his mind. McGonagall smiled sadly and shook her head, and he understood that she did not hold that title any longer, but he continued, desperate to explain. "Blaise Zabini was the Death Eater that caused the distraction while we passed the drawing room. He saw what we were doing, and chose to risk his life to save ours. I just wanted you to know… I mean, I don't know what sort of information you might have already collected on him, but I wanted you to know. He isn't happy with where he's at either."

McGonagall nodded appreciatively, but said nothing in response.

After a proper cup of tea, with very little talking between the eight of them, Kingsley found his way into the tent. "I apologize for the interruption," he bowed, his deep voice instantly relaxing Draco further. "Mrs. Malfoy has settled in, though she is asking for her son to join her. I think it is time I took Mr. Malfoy into hiding with her." Draco nodded and stood, thinking longingly of a safe bed and a worry-free life.

"I'm ready to go," he said tiredly as he pushed his chair back and stretched. He realized that he had no idea what time it was, but he was used to the nights, and he knew that the sun would be rising soon. He would be retiring a little earlier than he was used to, but it had been the single longest night of his life.

"Wait!" Granger said, as she scrambled to stand, using the back of her chair to pull herself to her feet, then leaning heavily on it. She stood tall, chin out in the proud, defiant way he had come to recognize, and then she let go of the chair and took a shaky step to pull Draco into a deep hug. He was stunned for a moment, unsure of what to do, and then gently reciprocated after a moment of stunned silence. "Thank you, Draco Malfoy, for saving my life. I look forward to seeing you after this war is over."

He met her gaze, and felt the corners of his mouth turn up. He didn't think he had ever met a braver or more determined person in his life. He finally understood all those years at Hogwarts when professors and students alike had referred to her as the cleverest witch of their age. "No, Hermione. Thank you for saving _my _life. I only hope I can repay the favor some day."

And at that, Kingsley ushered him out of the tent.

Once back into the crisp air of early March, Draco peered through the canopy of the trees high above him. His breath rose around him in little puffs. It would be morning soon, but the sky was still a deep velvety black. Little pin-pricks of light twinkled through the barren branches of the trees, and he smiled contently. It had been so long since he had seen the stars.

* * *

><p><strong>a.n. There it is! It wasn't as long as I wanted it to be, but I felt that stretching out scenes or adding other parts in would have taken away from the overall story. I hope you liked it. Let me know what you think!<strong>

**I have a general idea for a sequel in mind, if anyone would be interested, but it's nowhere near perfected, so it would take a while for me to get it outlined and written. **


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